Comment on this
by Kenneth Gurney
The line of Melanie's neck, bent
over her guitar; candlelight,
flickered shadows on her face; hands
softened by lotions, oils, finger firm chords;
her confident voice, sings passion
away from its hidden rest.
Think of the patient angel of atoms
in long labor, that something
more than a backbone
put into small creatures
that caused them to leave
the safety of the primordial ooze
to feel the wind and sun upon their faces.
There is a child born this moment,
squeezed out of an exquisite agony,
who in some molecular way
is different, evolved beyond
its parents. An infinite courage
begun in a cold, metal room
full of unnatural lights, latex,
and a knifing disconnection.
There is a naked boy
who runs the length of the pier
again and again, arms outstretched,
desirous of the seagulls' flight
the birds shriek above him,
until his rebelliousness
defies gravity and he ascends.
Melanie: the line of her neck
curves into her lovely shoulder,
light from a candle combines
shadow, passion, expression;
exchanges matter for energy,
lifts me on a hot wave of song
toward an uncharted star.
Kenneth Gurney happily and contently lives on the Olympic
near the town of Port Angeles, WA. His work appears in
many e'zines, print
journals and anthologies.